


Handsome Psycho

by UnknownSatellite84



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Atlas CEO Rhys, Bandits & Outlaws, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dismemberment, Eventual Smut, Hurt, Kidnapping, M/M, Pandora Sucks, Panic Attacks, Psycho!Handsome Jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24044119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownSatellite84/pseuds/UnknownSatellite84
Summary: Rhys came to Pandora on a business trip after four years of trying to forget the hell planet, but Pandora has no intentions of letting him leave. His past will come back to haunt him in unexpected, unusual ways - chiefly in the form of a handsome psycho. Maybe he's just going crazy. He did get captured by said psycho, after all.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 83





	1. Pandora Again

**Author's Note:**

> Been unable to get this AU out of my head lately, so I had to write for it. Psycho Jack rhack! 
> 
> Special thanks to nyghtmare for beta-reading for me! :D

There was something to be said for Pandora’s ability to screw up Rhys’s life. The last time he’d been here, he’d had help, managing to escape more than his fair share of near-deaths. This time, it seemed he wouldn’t get away. This negative had not been worth the positives. The thoughts raced through his head in a blur. The psycho leader raised his axe and screamed about meat. The last red, lingering rays of sunlight glinted ominously off of it.

The axe fell. Rhys screamed. 

* * *

**_~Twenty-four standard galaxy hours earlier~_ **

Rhys looked out at the pale sand dunes, unimpressed. He’d been away from Pandora for a long time, but not long enough. Four years, to be precise. And this place wasn’t any better than it had been. As far as the eye could see lay barren empty land, jagged ominous outcrops and intermittent drills that’d taken decades of abuse from Pandora’s sun and weather. No longer functional, they seemed skeletons, junk leftover from corporate affairs. And that was just what Rhys could see. It didn’t include all the murderers, psychos, and vicious animals that roved the dead hills in packs. He regretted agreeing to the meeting here. Pandora sucked. Rhys would’ve been happy to never see it again.

Rhys scrubbed his eyes and let out a sigh, bracing his feet in the cramped space of the truck that they rolled along in. He cast a glance at the Atlas soldiers, his security. He felt a swell of pride. They were good. He’d done good. Better than he could’ve here on Pandora, for sure.

“Sir,” one of them acknowledged upon noticing him, voice muffled by his helmet. 

“At ease,” Rhys said. He was bored more than anything. “What’s your name?” Normally, he was too busy to strike up a conversation, and it was always awkward to do so with the guards. Still, it was better than with his PA, Allen, who wouldn’t shut up if Rhys gave him even a minute of his time. Fortunately, he’d gotten Allen shoved into the second transport, so someone else would have to deal with him for the few hours it took to reach the meeting spot. 

But that left his ears ringing in the ensuing silence, so to speak.

It always felt like every decision came with a regretful negative, no matter how big or small.

The soldier answered him, “Garland, Sir.”

“First or last?”

“Last. It’s Abraham Garland. Sir.”

“Are you from Promethea?”

“Yeah. Born and raised.”

“So you’d agree that Pandora sucks ass?” Rhys said, glaring out at the harsh sunlight.

“Oh definitely, sir. I’ve got sand in places I’m trying not to think about.”

“Same.”

Good man.

The best, indeed. 

Within the hour, they reached the old Atlas mining complex, complete with an abandoned, empty armory and command center. Rhys could see Hyperion troops already waiting, and his sense of foreboding increased, outweighing the initial boredom as they were allowed in. Hyperion had come first to clear out any...uh, squatters. Rhys hadn’t had many dealings with Hyperion in a while, and still, the company made his hackles rise. He used to work for them but...well, that was a long time ago. Rhys didn’t want to think about how Hyperion had once crushed every hope and dream he’d ever had. And to combine them with this Pandora backdrop was only adding to his discomfort. If there ever was salt in a wound, it was now.

He still wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. It shouldn’t be. He went to great pains to keep his Hyperion days in the past, but one never knew.

The door to the transport opened, and Rhys dropped into the sand, grimacing as his neat boots sank in. A gust of wind threw sand into his eyes. 

“Ah, fuck-” He wiped his eyes, grimacing. “Ughhh.”

“Rhys!” Allen’s voice exclaimed, the man it belonged to stumbling out of the second transport and shoving glasses up his nose as he trotted up to Rhys. Rhys really should not have let Allen talk him into accompanying him. Allen was a great PA, but he was even more suited to stay at his desk than Rhys was. And god, did Rhys miss his desk in his wood-floored, air-conditioned office with it’s view of the gorgeous Promethean skyline. Not to mention those relaxing fish tanks. And his couch. His leather couch, damn it.

Rhys beckoned Allen over and started for the complex. Allen caught up, huffing. “Holy crap! I think I saw a skag on the way here. It was scary, had jaws of death. It was _bigger_ than me! What do they eat?”

“Other skags,” Rhys chuckled. “That’s Pandora for you. Just be glad it wasn’t psychos.”

“Ps-sychos?” Allen paled and shuddered. “Is it true they’re cannibals.”

“Probably. What else could they eat.”

Allen made a funny noise.

Rhys checked messages on the HUD in his Echo Eye as they entered the building. 

As expected, the building didn’t come with air-conditioning. He lamented this fact, though it was still cooler than in the hot sunlight. Why had Rhys worn his favorite black jacket with it’s gold buttons? He’d known that Pandora was hot and too primitive to let him keep his style. He doubted there were even working showers. Disgusting.

If there was mercy in the universe, Rhys would be heading home within hours. Rhys doubted the universe would have mercy, though. Did it ever?

Rhys had no important messages at the moment. He forwarded most of them to Allen. Speaking of, Allen was still chatting about the ride, but Rhys had zoned out. “Allen, you’ve got some mail to deal with,” he said, interrupting something about rakk swarms. 

As Allen slowed to check, Rhys gave him the slip, darting into a side hallway. He used his Echo Eye to find his way around the base from there.

Rhys located his accommodations with ease. It was the old commander’s quarters, and everything was ancient. He sighed, pacing the room a few times. Rust, rust, and more rust. Stains, too! How original! He studied his appearance in a cracked mirror. As expected, Pandora had already started on him. His hair was a mess, strands going this way and that. Sand coated his nice vest. He made sure to brush away as much sand as he could and fix his hair. He worried a strand that he swore was graying. He studied it for far too long, trying to determine if it was his imagination or not. No, it definitely was graying a bit. With a heavy sigh, he got into his spray and pushed it back.

Abandoning his jacket, Rhys peered out the window once more at shitty Pandora. Across the dunes, he thought he saw a lone figure standing on a rocky hill. He blinked and it was gone. _Already going crazy, Rhys._

Rhys left.

* * *

Rhys made his way to the meeting room, eyes peeled for his PA in case he had to duck into a side room. He made it without issue. There, Rhys was met with a pleasant surprise when his eyes landed on Hyperion’s CEO. 

“Yvette!?” he blurted.

Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Rhys! I just lost a bet I had where I said you’d send someone in your place!” Yvette dismissed the Hyperion guards with a wave of her hand, leaving them alone in the room. 

Rhys held himself back from rushing forward and embracing his old friend. He felt odd and slightly embarrassed, for some reason. “You...you’re president of Hyperion now!?” It was a twist he didn’t expect. He knew Yvette could take care of herself, but it would take some getting used to. Especially since he would’ve preferred to just hate Hyperion completely.

“Yup,” she answered. 

He accused mildly, “and you never thought to tell me?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know?”

He sheepishly returned, “I may have been...ignoring Hyperion’s affairs lately.”

Yvette tilted her head. “I see…” She drew closer and put a hand on Rhys’s shoulder. “It’s been forever, and I have to ask.... How are you doing? Are you alright?”

“I should be asking _you_! You had to put up with Hyperion! How did you get to be CEO?? By leeching everyone’s lunches?!” He teased, poking her. But he was very curious. It wasn’t easy getting to the top of Hyperion. 

She rolled her eyes. “Through hard work, Rhys. You did leave a hell of a mess when you....” she trailed off. “Well, let’s just say no one is as eager to fill these shoes anymore. People say the throne of Hyperion is cursed, but I intend to prove them wrong.”

“Well, if you ever decide it is, you’re more than welcome at Atlas.”

“Trying to steal the competition, eh? I think our companies will do better as allies.”

“Oh yeah. True. It’s just...” Rhys sighed. A bitterness filled him that he didn’t understand. Oh right. Loneliness. He missed his friends, and he hadn’t had much luck making new ones of late… “Well, maybe we should get a drink sometime?”

“If we find the time. Although that will be hard.”

People started to file in with the returning guards. Atlas guards wound up on one side of the room, Hyperion on the other. Yvette shot one last whisper. “Just because we’re friends don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Atlas.”

“Same to you, Hyperion.” Rhys smirked.

Allen appeared at his side. When he spoke, it was under his breath. “Sir, your guard captain wished me to inform you that there’s been a recent increase in bandit activity in this sector. Perhaps we should keep it short, she said.”

“Oh please, no bandit group is stupid enough to attack two heavily guarded CEOs, locked in a compound loaded with automated defenses. And if they are, they won’t last long.”

It was one of the few times Allen gave him a knowing look and answered in a dry voice, “is that what you wish me to relay to her, sir?” 

“No. Just tell her the message was received.”

The meeting began. Rhys felt a weird anxiousness spreading through his chest. He couldn’t fully explain it, but it didn’t feel like his normal worries about these sorts of meetings. He checked the time. Although Pandora’s sun was still rising, it was almost noon by central galaxy time. He gave a deep sigh. His thoughts flickered to the memory of the figure on the ridge, replaying the message Allen had relayed.

_Maybe I should call this all off and leave._

No. That was stupid. They’d just gotten here. It had taken months to get this together. Hyperion had refused to negotiate anywhere other than Pandora - a power move, to be sure, as Rhys was deeply uncomfortable, moreso than he wanted to admit. But he couldn’t afford to pass up this opportunity, as they were negotiating rights to the remaining eridium mines. While Hyperion occupied most, they’d never officially or legally taken them from Atlas, the original owner before it fell out of power. Rhys wasn’t letting this pie go, and if he forced a reschedule, it would take many more months. Not to mention, it would piss everyone off. They’d just wind up back on this piss-ass, primitive planet with it’s disgusting buildings and endless sand, more frustrated than before.

He just had to be patient. Nothing was going to happen. It was alright.

He shot a quick message to Allen. Allen left the room with a murmured apology, returning a few minutes later. He handed Rhys something. Rhys eyed the bottle of anti-anxiety medication. Rhys quietly took one as the meeting progressed. He sipped his water, listening to a couple of arguing lawyers who were getting a bit heated. 

It was ridiculous. Rhys was willing to settle, as long as Atlas walked away with a satisfactory amount.

An alarm sounded.

“What’s going on?!” Someone demanded. Rhys stood, heart racing. He braced against the table as his guards drew closer, struggling to calm the worries. It wasn’t working. It never did. It was hard to breathe.

A new guard entered the room. Rhys forced himself to focus on what they said. “Sorry for the delay, everybody. There was a bandit patrol sighted a mile to the south, heading this way, heavily armed. We advise that this meeting be put off until we’re sure they’re dealt with. Captain’s orders.”

“This is ridiculous,” Yvette spoke up. “There’s always patrols, and they won’t risk us, and even if they do, the turrets will wipe them.”

Rhys fidgeted. He saw Allen’s pale face.

“All the same, this is procedure,” the guard said. “Please return to your rooms until we get extermination confirmation.”

“Fine.”

“This is stupid,” Rhys groaned as they left the room. Agitated energy made him walk quickly, Allen struggling to keep up on his shorter legs. “This-this is just putting us in _more_ danger by making these ridiculous negotiations take longer!”

Allen’s eyes widened. “You don’t think the bandits can get us, do you?”

“Nope,” Rhys said, even as his nerves fluttered. “There’s no way.”

“Hmm...I’m not so confident.”

* * *

Despite Rhys’s worries, the alarm turned out to be false. The said bandit patrol had been spotted and fired at by the turrets. They’d scattered to the wind, as Rhys had suspected. Within the following day, the negotiations wrapped up with Rhys mostly satisfied with the settle. Fifty-fifty ownership and profit. A little too generous to Hyperion, but he just wanted to leave this stupid planet. There were other deals he could make on nicer planets with nice rooms and fresh food. None of that digistructed freeze-dried crap. Besides, he told himself Yvette could use a win, too.

The vehicles rumbled to life, heading back toward the spaceport. Rhys scrolled his messages, ignoring Pandora’s boring landscape this time. “Allen, please direct any messages received from Hyperion’s CEO directly to me.” He flicked something off his nice jacket. More sand.

“Yes, sir.”

At least Yvette would be more than tolerable, a far cry better than the usual jackasses that would’ve claimed the CEO title for themselves. He closed his HUD and leaned back, letting his eyes drift shut. Thankfully, Allen was distracted and didn’t bother him. 

“It’s beautiful,” came a voice. Rhys opened one eye, curious. He saw gazes turned to the window. He followed their eyes.

He saw rolling sand dunes, but they were no longer dead-pale. At this point, Pandora’s sun was starting to set, and it cast the land in gold and red hues. Rhys always did love sunsets. Even on shitty planets they were pretty, it seemed. All was quiet and still, almost serene. There was only the rumble of the vehicle around them. And a sharp whistling sound that was getting louder with each second.

“Allen,” Rhys started, turning in confusion, “do you hea-”

Whatever Rhys intended to say, it was lost as a screech split through the vehicle and Rhys was thrown against the seatbelt. They were rolling. Rhys saw stars. Everything darkened, then lightened, then darkened again. Finally, everything stilled. Rhys opened his eyes, upside down, trapped in the belt. He heard a lot of yelling and...gunfire. He was dizzy with blood rushing to his head. He reached for his belt. He unlatched it, crashing to the floor. 

“Owwww,” he groaned, rubbing his head.

“Rhys!? Rhys!” 

“Allen,” he muttered, glancing at his PA, who was releasing himself more carefully from the belt. 

“Are you okay? Rhys?”

“Yeah, great. Never bett-”

The sound of gunfire cut him off. Rhys’s heart stuttered and he instinctively ducked down, fearful. Something pinged off the truck loudly. The guards that were in the vehicle were finally collected with their guns, staying against the windows.

Rhys frowned at them. “You, men, get out there and help!”

“Sir, shouldn’t we cover you?”

“I’ll be fine, just make sure we don’t all get killed, please!” There was another explosion outside. The transport rattled.

The guards didn’t wait much longer, opening the door and springing into the fray. It slammed shut behind them.

“I-I don’t like this!” Allen exclaimed.

“Keep quiet,” Rhys muttered. “We’ll be fine in here, the car’s armored.” His Echo Eye scanned. What was going on? Bandit attack?

The vehicle rattled and shifted violently. Another explosion sent it rolling and Rhys fell again, twice more. The vehicle righted, and he found himself between the steering wheel and dash. Smoke poured into the transport, a fire licking at the engine up the hood. Rhys choked and hauled himself to the door, fiddling with the latch. It opened. Rhys clambered out, falling gracelessly to the ground, eyes watering and throat burning. Everything ached. Something had to be broken. 

“My ribs…” he muttered, wincing.

“I’LL MAKE YOUR BONES CRY A MELODY!”

Rhys’s eyes snapped over to see a large shape crouched over one...of the...one of his... _very_ dead guards. The guard was hacked to pieces. The shape was hulking big, covered in blood, bearing a pale, empty mask. Rhys’s stomach dropped with fear, and he froze. How was this thing ever human? It looked like a monster, all muscles and scars and twisted hatred. Rhys realized one of its hands was really tiny, as if it had outgrown it.

“Rhys!” Yelled a voice.

The monster looked over.

_Damn it, Allen._

The hulking shape turned bodily toward them. “More meat?” It asked. “Hahahahaha, more meat!” It exclaimed excitedly. It stood tall and started dancing, shaking and throwing its hands like a kid on Mercenary Day. It hefted a big axe, one that was still painted with fresh blood. More concerningly, the axe was larger than Rhys himself. “TIME FOR DINNER, CHILDREN!”

It was a wonder Rhys didn’t piss himself.

Rhys clambered to his feet just as Allen made a rough entrance, stumbling from the vehicle. Allen shrieked, seeing the bandit. Rhys grabbed his vest and started dragging him into a stumble run. He didn’t know where he could go, but they had to get out of there. Rhys’s ribs flamed from the effort, but he kept going.

A white hot pain shot through his leg. Rhys fell. 

“Rhys!” Allen yelled, pulling at him. Rhys managed to roll over.

The massive figure towered over them. “TIME TO PLAY!” It raised it’s axe, laughing.

“Fuck.” 

Another, smaller axe appeared between its eyes, embedded deep in its skull. Blood spilled out and the figure gurgled, falling forward onto its knees. Rhys scooted back as it tilted further forward. It hit the sand, blood pooling around it. Rhys shuddered and looked around, heart pounding, trying to figure out where the other axe had come from. He couldn’t see much, though; billowing smoke clouded visibility. There was another nearby explosion that made his ears ring. 

The hands that’d been trying to pull him up were gone. Rhys flipped back over and crawled, leg on fire. It was warm, wet, probably covered in blood. Maybe he’d been hit with shrapnel, or a stray bullet. He tried to stay low, out of sight. For some reason, his shield hadn’t protected him, and that was making the panic worse.

He wondered where Allen had gone. Did he abandon Rhys? Or did the explosion get him? He berated himself for bringing the PA along. Competent PAs weren’t as easy to replace as one might think. And okay, Rhys knew he should feel worse about this, but he didn’t have time for feelings right now.

Why was he thinking about this?

Head feeling thick, Rhys continued clawing along, chest heaving. Gunfire spat nearby along with screams, yells and the laughs of the bandits. Rhys wanted to freeze up again, but he needed to find a hiding spot first.

Some of the smoke blew away in a gust of wind. Rhys saw a series of large rocks to the side. Praying nobody saw him, he pulled himself behind them. He propped himself up, trying to control his wild breathing, make it quieter. 

Forever passed.

When the gunfire and screaming started to lessen, he peered from his spot, noting a bunch of shapes swarming the area. The bandits, and Rhys’s heart leapt into his throat. His guards were literally in pieces, blood everywhere, the transports burned out husks. Smoke and embers still lingered. 

They’d been outnumbered, at least five to one. Rhys swallowed the rising bile and, trembling, settled back into his hiding spot. He risked a glance at his leg. The pant leg was soaked with blood, but he couldn’t see the actual wound in the dying light. He felt light-headed.

He needed to get away somehow. He realized something he should’ve done well before now, too concerned with not immediately dying. His HUD pulled up and he found some of it was not working right, fizzling and freezing up. He went to put a call to Atlas command, only to find out his signal was jammed. He cursed.

Boots crunched nearby in the sand. Rhys’s breath failed, blood draining from his face. He shut his mouth and flattened himself against the rocks, shaking harder than before. _You didn’t hear me, please._ _Please don’t see me, please don’t find me, please-_

A shadow fell over the rocks, one shaped like a person. Rhys knew it was one of the bandits. He swallowed his fear, trying not to breathe. Hopefully they didn’t look too closely.

Several agonizing seconds passed.

The shape turned and left. Rhys stayed as still as possible. A crick made itself known in his back, but he still didn’t risk a shift. Rhys could hear jeering voices. A crack of gunfire rang out. Rhys started...and cautiously risked another look out, seeing some marauders looting through the bodies. Some whooped and chased each other. Others examined pouches and armor.

Rakks began circling overhead.

“Spread out!” One called, gesturing around them. “Find their valuables. Don’t leave anything that looks good! That vending machine buys everything!”

Rhys realized he was too close. If the bandits did a thorough sweep, they’d find him. But with his leg as it was, he didn’t think he could successfully move to a new location without being spotted. But if he stayed…

Rhys looked up the red dunes. If he could make it to the nearby rocky outcrops. Maybe if he stayed low, crawled, the low light would shield him. He made to move, but paused when he saw a figure on the dunes. It was the right size and shape to be a person. And it was directly in his line of sight. It walked towards him. Rhys’s heart sank. Was it a sniper or a scout?

Maybe they didn’t see him?

The shape came closer, and Rhys was no longer able to delude himself that he might still be hidden. As it drew closer, more details of the person became clearer. Rhys saw that the bandit wore the tattered remnants of an overcoat, and its mask, though similar to the others’, had a huge crack in the side. A dark, decorative line looped from one jaw, up to the forehead, down to the other. The mask’s eye covers had been torn out, letting him peer out. Well-toned, what was shown of his flesh was heavily scarred, with old burns. His left hand looked like it’d been incorrectly healed from a bad break, and the other hand was holding a knife.

Rhys shook himself. Screw this. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t die without _trying_ to survive. He pushed himself up, forgetting how painful his leg wound was, but he gritted his teeth. _Stop being a baby_. He hobbled forward, reaching into his belt for his stun baton. He cursed himself for never learning to fire a gun. He’d always thought he could rely on his tech and his men.

As the bandit drew closer, he let the end of the baton come out, glittering with threatening electricity. The bandit slowed and stopped. 

Rhys heard more footsteps behind him.

Oh.

Right.

The _other_ bandits...

“Well, well, well, looks like we got a live one!” someone said behind him. Rhys turned his head and saw a group of the other bandits had him surrounded. He swallowed. Every one of those cursed masks looked like death right now. 

_I’m so dead._

“Um, hi,” he said, throat scratchy. “Let’s just...uh, if you wanted money… It can be arranged.”

“What about it boss?” Said a voice. “Let him live or clean him up!?”

It took Rhys a moment to realize the question was directed at the bandit that had caught him. This was their boss? Rhys studied him. He wasn’t the largest or smallest, and nothing immediately remarkable stood out. But Rhys could still sense a difference there. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

The leader drew closer, eyes narrowed behind the mask. Rhys saw one of the eyes was blind white. “Hmmmm.”

“I’m a very important person,” Rhys insisted, heart thundering. “I would get you a-a lot of money if left alive.”

The bandit strolled past him, and Rhys watched in confusion. The leader paused by the dead form of the hulking bandit from earlier. He gripped the axe still in the monster’s head and wrenched it free.

“Aaww,” One of the other bandits complained. “What did Big Billy do to deserve that?”

The leader spun around. He took a deep breath. “Filthy MEAT TRAITOR!” Rhys flinched back. The leader stormed forward and grabbed the other bandit by the neck, yelling. “GO CHOKE ON A SPIKE, YOU MORONS!” His voice was high and loose, but seemed...weirdly familiar. Rhys didn’t ponder it. His brain was obviously not to be trusted at this moment, after being in this situation.

“Yo, what the hell!?” the choking bandit growled, starting to resist.

“DON’T THINK I DON’T KNOW YOUR SINS, MANIAC!”

The bandits seemed just as confused as Rhys, but they started cheering as an apparent fight to the death broke out. The bandit had knocked the leader away, roaring with a knife out. Rhys didn’t care. He’d seen the others were distracted. He used the distraction to start limping away. He didn’t look back. _Just keep going, just keep going._

He was struck, knocked to the ground. A forceful hand grabbed his bad leg and dragged him back. Rhys screamed and spun, slammed his stun baton into the man. The grip released as his assaulter spun away. Rhys had to scramble to gain his feet again, and by then, another group was upon him.

Rhys fought, trying to swing his baton. A gun jammed under his throat and an unfriendly hand wrested his weapon away. A blow to his gut left him doubled over and gasping. Rhys went limp, defeated. The scuffle was dying down, with the previous bandit now dead under the leader’s feet. Rhys was shoved toward this bandit, landing on his hands and knees. He coughed, wincing. Everything hurt so much.

“Little fucker got me!” Snarled one of the stunned bandits. “Let me pull his fuckin’ teeth.”

Rhys cowered on the ground, covering his head.

The leader smacked the angry bandit. The bandit growled and slunk off like an angry dog. There was some hissing and muttering amongst the group. The leader acknowledged Rhys again, tilting his head as his gaze traveled over Rhys, scrutinizing. 

Rhys tried for a winning smile. “I..uh… Sorry?”

The bandit leader stooped and grabbed Rhys’s hair. Rhys yelped, dragged unceremoniously across the ground. He gripped the wrist holding him to keep some pressure off his hair. All of his pains flared, especially his leg. He knew it was still bleeding. How much blood had he lost? Too much, probably.

The bandit threw him down onto a large rock. The bandit shoved him over onto his back, and then gripped Rhys’s jaw, leaning in close. Rhys flinched, a pathetic whimper he wasn’t proud of leaving his lips.

“Cyberman,” the bandit said, looking at...Rhys’s eye. _Oh shit_. “Little cyberman feels a bit too much like trouble…”

“Please,” Rhys started, “I can-”

The bandit hoisted Rhys up enough to rip his jacket off, tearing the threads without care and tossing it aside. Rhys lamented it. It really was his favorite. Confused, he realized the other bandits were crowding closer. If they were going to kill him, why hadn’t they?

The bandit leader chuckled. A shiver ran down Rhys’s spine. This...person really did sound hauntingly familiar, but Rhys couldn’t place it. His heart raced viciously and Rhys felt sick, weak, like prey under a predator. If he wasn’t in so much pain already, he might have tried to fight again. Not that he could do much against a group of large, armed men without a weapon of his own.

The leader barked. “Grab the arms! Keep it still!”

Rhys didn’t understand. A bandit grabbed his cybernetic arm, pinning it down. Another bandit grabbed his other arm. “Wait, what are-”

There was something to be said for Pandora’s ability to screw up Rhys’s life. The last time he’d been here, he’d had help, managing to escape more than his fair share of near-deaths. This time, it seemed he wouldn’t get away. This negative had not been worth the positives. The thoughts raced through his head in a blur. The psycho leader raised his axe and screamed about meat. The last red, lingering rays of sunlight glinted ominously off of it.

The axe fell. Rhys screamed. 

There was a crunch. But it wasn't his chest it sank into, rather the shoulder of his cybernetic. An electric shot went through his implants. Rhys’s eyes slammed shut. He could _feel_ it, the axe that’d sheared metal and wires. He’d had nerve wiring done so he could better use the arm, and he now regretted it. He bit his tongue, holding back a scream.

The axe shifted, tilting as if to pry. There was a tearing that made Rhys whimper again. The axe lifted, and the leader’s hand ripped wires.

Rhys screamed, writhing. The arm pulled away with blood running down it’s sleek metal. Rhys gasped for air, head spinning. He was starting to feel numb in his side. That couldn’t be a good sign. The bandit leader tossed the useless arm at the followers. “Shiny for sale! Get one for the price of none,” he laughed. 

“Looks expensive!”

Rhys gazed listlessly into the sky. This was how he died. Torn apart by scavengers that wanted to sell pieces of him. Were his organs next? He sobbed for breath, tears streaking down his face, feeling even more helpless. His arm had been as much a part of him as the rest of his body, and he couldn’t comprehend it’s loss yet. All he knew was that it hurt, it hurt, _it hurt so much_. 

Down an arm and a leg. What next?

A rough hand grabbed his injured leg. “Wound runs deep,” commented the leader, observing. “Hmmm, what a bitch.”

Rhys blinked. He stirred. “Are...are you-”

Rhys was interrupted yet again.

“Boss, gonna get his eye, too?” 

Rhys shook his head. “No.” The leader gripped Rhys’s hair, inspecting his eye again. The grip was tight and unforgiving. Cold panic lanced through Rhys’s body. He continued to shake his head, breath wheezing. “No...please, it could kill me if it doesn’t release properly...it’s hooked to my brain-”

“Release it!”

Rhys trembled. “I-I don’t have the tools-it’s- It’d take a surgeon- It’s not worth much, I promise. Please.” More tears escaped his eyes. 

The bandit leader snarled and Rhys shook.

He shoved Rhys’s face away. “It’s not worth skag piss! Did you see it!?!” He dug into one of his intact pockets, pulling out a small device. Rhys wasn’t sure what it was, but the man flicked a switch on it. The rest of Rhys’s cybernetics shut down with a flickering crackle. 

An EMP?

Down an eye now, too. _Half the man you used to be._ In spite of everything, Rhys gave a hysterical laugh at the thought, no longer caring. He slumped back on the rock. His vision swam, and his thoughts grew wispy. Good, maybe he’d be passed out when they finally killed him.

“Now worth nothing,” the other bandit grumbled disappointedly, somewhere off in the distance.

With that, the leader wrapped an arm around Rhys’s waist and slung him over the shoulder. Rhys yelped in shock, now fully back in reality. A firm hand gripped his hip, holding him in place. They were moving away. Rhys stared back at the wreckage and the bandits picking through it. Oh god where was he being taken to? 

“What….are...are you doing?” he managed.

“Quiet, meat pumpkin, before I give you something to _really_ whine about.”

Rhys fell silent. He was going to be meat stew within the hour, wasn’t he?

* * *

A quick, messy bandit!Jack art I made! 


	2. HANDSOME

The fading darkness didn’t stay in Rhys’s head. It floated, light as a feather, lingering at the edges of his mind. Somehow, he moved without mobility. He saw sand below him. Felt pressure on his thigh and against his stomach. Tasted salt and rust on his dry tongue. Heard muttering - in his head or outside of it, he wasn’t sure. His nerves crackled, tingled, and burned. 

The darkness clouded in. It washed back out, like the tide of a big, black ocean. In. Out. In. Out. 

He couldn't remember what he was attempting to remember, trying to come back to himself, struggling against the deep waters. He fell, water in his mouth, trickling down his cheek and neck, but also into his throat. He choked. 

The empty tide rushed in again, muting his mind. 

It felt peaceful. 

Over the rushing waves of nothingness, footsteps reached him, dull thunks on wood. 

He was confused. 

There shouldn’t be anyone in his room. He hadn’t fooled around in years. Maybe he’d fallen asleep at the office and Allen was bringing more coffee. Or perhaps Zer0 had snuck in and left more haiku books for him. Zer0 wouldn’t have audible footsteps though.

What a weird dream he’d had... What was it about again? He remembered screams and explosions. And overwhelming pain. A nightmare, then. It was best forgotten.

Something wasn’t right. The bed wasn’t soft, and the air was heavy and unpleasant. Rhys breathed in and out, feeling like a band had been stretched around his chest. Every inch of him weighed a million pounds. Rhys’s nose twitched at an unpleasant odor. It seemed to be a combination of blood, metal, sweat, and gunpowder. Perhaps more. His eyes cracked open, stinging with dryness. He squinted in pain, shutting them until the discomfort faded. He forced them open again. 

He was in a dim room. Cobwebs, rotted wood, dust and made up the ceiling. Everything hurt, still, and he just wanted it to go away. He had no strength to move. He slipped his eyes shut, hoping he could fade back to the peaceful, painless, dark ocean.

The footsteps shuffled. Something warm and coarse brushed his cheek. Rhys exhaled, unable to respond. He wanted to lean into the pressure... It didn’t matter. He needed to sleep.

A voice spoke, “you fell from the clouds, pumpkin. Stupid. Pretty. But stupid. It’s been so long since...” The voice trailed away.

Rhys smiled, even as the words fell away without processing.

_The air smelled crisp and clear, cooled by the wind. Trees swayed gently overhead. A hand brushed over Rhys’s cheek, light and reassuring. Rhys smiled. A masked face peered down at him, expression amused._

_“You alright there, pumpkin?”_

Stinging. In his thigh. Rhys came back to himself. The feeling didn’t prepare him for the fiery, itchy pain that started in his leg. Rhys’s eyes opened once more, and he struggled against the feeling, willing it away. The intensity increased. Blurry-eyed, he looked down at his body, confused, and saw one of those...Anshin healing syringes embedded in his leg, held by a firm hand. The contents emptied, and it was removed. 

Rhys winced. The itching was so _intense_. He needed to relieve it with a good scratch, but he felt so damned sluggish. His hand twitched. “Unnnng,” he protested. His eyes followed the syringe-hand to the owner. The bandit leader. 

“You,” Rhys said dumbly. His tongue felt like a sponge. 

“Me,” the bandit agreed. His voice sounded pleased.

Rhys, groaning at the monumental effort, leaned forward to itch his leg - the leg that’d been pouring blood and aching before. He saw the tear in the pant leg, framed in dried blood, and he realized the wound was gone; the itchy discomfort came from the healing. All the same, he scratched, furiously. 

He turned his head.

A bottle neck pressed to Rhys's lips, and water flooded his mouth. Too quick. Rhys coughed, but also swallowed eagerly, spluttering more. The neck pulled away to the tune of muttering. Rhys wiped his lips with the back of his dusty hand, grimacing at the dirt. He ignored it in favor of observing the bandit looming over him. 

There was no mask now, and Rhys saw his features. Old burn scars covered more than half his face, twisting the flesh. There was also some sort of arched, blue discoloration, one that mirrored the mark Rhys had seen on the mask before. Rhys didn’t even want to know what had caused it. The bandit’s thick, unkempt hair was a rich brown with graying streaks, he realized. 

"You…” Rhys tried again, searching out the bandit’s pinning gaze. It hadn’t left him this whole time, and Rhys’s skin crawled. He was acutely aware of the lack of personal space. “You healed me?” 

The bandit inhaled. “Duh, meat. Obviously.”

 _So he understands what I’m saying? Is he smarter than the others? Is that why they called him a leader? Or is there more to it?_ Rhys mentally shook himself. Obviously, even bandits could communicate to some extent. How else would they coordinate attacks of such caliber? The only important question was.... 

“Why?”

The bandit pivoted and rummaged in a nearby drawer. "Can't have ya dying on me, princess."

Rhys shifted, his next words timid and cautious. "And….why's that? Did-did you want money or…?" 

Nothing. 

Rhys swallowed, throat still thick. "'Cause I'd have to a-arrange the transfer with my people, and… you don't happen to have an Echo, do you? I...uh...would need to call but..."

The bandit paused, but only to tinker with something. Some sort of device. The silence bore down oppressively. Maybe Rhys was wrong about how well the man understood him. Or maybe he was just being ignored. Yeah, seemed the more likely of the two.

When it was clear he wasn't going to be answered, he took the time to properly assess himself. He was acutely aware of a more limited vision, with one eye out for the count. Rhys examined his right shoulder where his cyber arm should be connected. He could only see cleaved, haphazard wires. He grimaced at the sight of it. The memory of its loss made him dizzy again, and he forced it away. It was going to be hell to repair and replace. Also, his clothes were in a state of regrettable disarray, covered in sand, cuts, drying blood. His hair felt disgusting and messy. Rhys would be terrified to find a mirror here. He didn’t even want to imagine how awful he must appear.

Good thing the only one to see him was some maniac who probably didn’t even have a shower.

Rhys eyed the room, trying to make sense of the situation. It was an unimpressive, gross space, only slightly worse than the compound that’d held the meeting. Smaller, too. It was illuminated by a dull lamp on a nightstand. The cot he lay on was frayed and stained. Everything stank and must’ve been thousands of years old, he derided silently. He really, really hated Pandora. 

Rhys tried not to think of it too hard.

He could not regret this trip more. He needed to get back to Atlas.

Rhys glanced at the bandit leader. _So this makes twice he’s saved my life…First with that giant brute and now this... Why? And why won’t he tell me?_ He fidgeted with unease. There was a part of him that was wary and expecting this to be a facade. Any minute, the bandit would reveal intentions worse than any of the fates Rhys had been threatened with so far.

Although having his arm ripped off and eye disabled had been pretty far up that “worse, worser, and worst” list.

Still, none of this would’ve happened if his guard had been better. He wanted to yell about that, but settled for a noise of disgust. They’d been wiped out like insects. Ugh. He was going to have to do something about his soldiers when he got back to HQ. Namely find a better training regiment and upgraded equipment. If Atlas couldn’t protect its CEO from simple bandits, what hope did they have against the other corporations?

The bandit finally turned back to him and snapped something on Rhys’s wrist. It was a cuff, and the cuff was attached to the side of the bed. The bandit grabbed Rhys’s jaw, turning his head. Rhys was confused once more until he realized the bandit was observing his neural port.

“Hmmm.”

Rhys frowned, heart rate speeding up. He watched the bandit out of the corner of his eye. The man’s gaze was so piercing and intense; his remaining eye was ice blue, like a cold sky. Rhys shifted, restless, trying not to let his anxiety climb even higher. It wasn’t working very well. 

The bandit let go and patted his cheek roughly, chuckling. Rhys glared in response. “That’s quite a kit, there, cyber kiddo.”

“Until you screwed it all up,” Rhys blurted before checking himself.

The bandit snorted, seeming more amused than anything, thankfully. “Yeah well… Get used to it. Stop pouting, meatcake. You’ve just been initiated to Pandora! And survived, haha!” He threw his arms wide, gesturing grandly.

 _Yeah, I know._ Rhys muttered, “no shortage of warm welcomes…”

The bandit turned as if to leave. “Sleep tight, meat kitten. I have stuff to do.”

“Wait!”

The bandit paused, waiting, ear turned to Rhys.

“ _Who_ are you? I mean...what-what do I call you, um..?”

The bandit seemed to consider for a moment before straightening up and- 

“I AM HANDSOME!”

Rhys grimaced at the abrupt volume. The...so-called _handsome_ psycho laughed and the door slammed shut behind him. A lock clicked.

Rhys shuddered. That voice… Now he knew why it had seemed familiar. That word. _Handsome_. It was almost like… The demeanor was too close, if a bit more...psycho-y. And the looks, if they were less scarred… Would he be exactly like…? 

No. No. _No_. 

He couldn’t think like this. He couldn’t. Not two days on Pandora, and he was already going crazy. He couldn’t let his past haunt him in such a ridiculous way. No doubt his memory of another long-had handsome problem was warped anyway. He couldn’t trust it.

He needed to figure out how to escape. That was all that mattered. There were no windows in this room, even if he could slip the cuff. Rhys tugged his bond, but it was firm. Yeah, that wasn’t happening. He regretted not trying to get the drop when the bandit had his back turned, although Rhys suspected he wouldn't have managed much damage. He was nowhere near as physically apt. He would've just gotten more pain for his troubles. He just hoped an opportunity presented itself.

Down an arm, an eye, and a lot of confidence, Rhys slumped back on the disgusting cot, grimacing. Fuck. He needed a shower. And his soft bed on Promethea. And some real-milk ice cream. And a lot of things, come to think of it. Rhys squirmed about, trying to find a more comfortable position with his arm tied. 

All the while, his mind raced. Did anyone at Atlas have a clue where to look for him yet? They surely knew his transport hadn’t made it back. Surely they’d be sweeping the area soon. Surely it wouldn’t be long before they found him. He just had to stay alive.

Why the hell did he ever come to Pandora, again?

* * *

At some point, in spite of everything, Rhys managed to doze off. He awoke to the door rattling open. He sat up, mouth dry, breathing and heart rate picking up. Ah, his fresh dose of adrenaline, it seemed. The bandit leader strolled in without a word, heading right for him. Rhys scooted back instinctively, not that he could go far. The bandit unlocked the cuff. “Out!” he said loudly, pointing at the door. “Now! Before I gut your skin and wear it for the princesses at the festival!”

Rhys didn’t need to figure out what that meant. He scrambled off the cot, feeling lopsided without his cyberarm. His legs were unsteady from disuse, and he launched himself too quickly, tripping and nearly face-planting into the floor. He caught himself and made his stumbling way for the door, gnawing his lip and tugging on one of the cuts in his shirt.

He wished he had insight into what was going to happen next. He hoped it wasn’t going to be torture or something else equally fucked up. The bandit followed close behind (Rhys could feel his body heat, hear his breathing), poking Rhys with harsh jabs that directed him down a hallway and out a set of doors. Aaaand they were outside. It was still dark out. And cold. Freaking Pandora. Rhys hugged his arm to him, wishing the bandit hadn’t deprived him of his jacket.

There was a small fire going.

_So I am going to get cooked._

_At least I’ll be warm, then,_ he joked with himself. 

_Bad joke,_ he replied to himself.

It took Rhys a minute to realize there was something already roasting, and the scent hit his nose, not entirely unpleasant but...that was definitely a skag. At least it wasn’t a human? _I guess._

“Here’s how it works, meat kitten,” the bandit started in a growl. A hand clamped onto his shoulder, making him jump. Rhys was spun about to face the bandit. Rhys swallowed and stepped back, but the bandit loomed closer, backing Rhys up. He raised his axe. “You try to run.” He flung the axe. Rhys yelped as it embedded itself in a nearby block of wood. Rhys flushed with embarrassment, meekly meeting the bandit’s eye. He nodded. 

Chuckling, the bandit moved away and grabbed his axe. He gestured by the fire. “Sit.” There were a few stone slabs arranged like chairs.

Rhys sat. It was warmer here, at least. He gazed around. Apart from the fire and the old building he’d been marched out of - honestly it was too run down to begin guessing what its purpose had once been - there wasn’t much. Some old debris. A nearby spiked truck parked in the sand. Wood blocks resting in a mound. Wiry looking plants growing about. Also, a vending machine sat against the building. The first hint of civilization, Rhys thought. It glowed with power, although it was very weathered. The paint had faded completely, leaving it plain and boring. He wondered at its contents.

Rhys watched the bandit turn the spit. The fire crackled and popped. Rhys stretched his hands to feel more heat. He couldn’t seem to get warm. “Are you going to tell me why I’m still alive?” he asked, staring into the flames now. 

The bandit grunted.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Only if you run, beanstalk.”

“Why?”

The bandit grunted again. 

The non-answers were more irritating than the potential, actual answers to his questions. Rhys drew his legs up, wrapping his arm around them, frowning. “Why aren’t the others around? Didn’t they call you boss?”

The bandit pulled out a stone and, crouching, began sharpening the blade on the axe. Rhys cleared his throat, but remained unanswered. This was pointless. He might as well have stuck a gag in his own mouth, for how helpful speaking was.

Gritting his teeth, Rhys stood, fury in his chest. “Why won’t you tell me _anything_ ?!” he demanded, fist balled, heart thundering. He glared at his captor. “What's the point of taking someone prisoner for _no reason_? Do I have to yell like one of you psychos just to be heard!? Or am I too complicated to understand?!”

The psycho stopped sharpening his axe. He drew himself to his full height, propping the weapon on his shoulder. He walked towards Rhys, who suddenly remembered who he was talking to - a murderous maniac in the middle of the worst planet in the galaxy. Rhys's gaze dropped to the ground, and he fidgeted. The psycho held the axe out, letting it brush Rhys's chest up to his neck. Rhys shuddered. The cold metal touched Rhys's chin. He resisted whimpering and ruining his remaining dignity as his face was lifted towards the bandit. “So many questions and no patience. Tsk.”

Rhys was frozen, wondering if he'd miscalculated. Maybe the bandit would decide to kill him. He'd been an idiot to antagonize him

Rhys realized they were actually about the same height, but he felt small and insubstantial. The bandit could mow him down with both hands tied, he was sure. 

The bandit smiled, but there was nothing warm in it. “Simmer down now, saucecake. The others will be here before long, for the party. Then, we’re gonna go for a _niiice_ walk, eh? A walk down the calico road! Don’t ya wanna?” He chortled, taking the axe away from Rhys’s neck. Rhys breathed out, not realizing he’d been holding it. 

Rhys’s legs gave out and he sat back down. His vision faded slightly, wooziness flooding him. He rested his forehead in his palms and tried to control his breathing until it passed. So maybe the answer hadn't made him feel any better, he acknowledged to himself. He felt weirdly empty and drained now, and also pissed at himself. 

The psycho slipped the axe through his belt and pulled out a knife. He turned to the roasted skag and carved a piece off. He threw the chunk of meat at Rhys. Rhys jumped as it landed in his lap, steaming. He grimaced. Now that added grease to his ruined clothes… He wished he could change. 

Not to mention this probably gave the food a nice topping of delicious sand! 

The psycho went to the vending machine and got something from it. Water. Rhys realized. Water in sealed bottles! The bandit tossed him one. Rhys caught it and sipped. His thirst became all that much sharper. He took deep gulps of it eagerly, draining most of the contents in one go. 

He caught the bandit staring at him again. 

Shaking it off, Rhys picked up the meat… He didn't have a lot of choice. Who knew when he might get to eat real food? He needed to stay alive somehow. He steeled himself and bit into it, trying not to grimace or gag. It tasted mostly charred, which was disgusting, but it also wasn’t as terrible as he expected. There was a tangy undertone that…wasn't awful. At least he could manage it. 

When Rhys had finished, the bandit carved another piece and tossed it his way before he even asked. He raised a brow. “I know my questions are annoying, but seriously, what should I call you?”

“Told ya, meat cupcake. Did ya go deaf before? Deaf like the old gravestones….” he rumbled, eyes becoming unfocused.

Rhys laughed. “You mean _Handsome_?”

The bandit came out of whatever he'd been lost in, shaking his head like a skag. " _Duh_."

 _In your dreams._ Rhys said, “how about bandit?”

“I told you my name, kiddo. Stop being an idiot!!” Snapped the man. “I’ll grind up the skulls of their ashes and….aghhhh! NOT AGAIN!” He grabbed his own hair and yelled hysterically, “NOT AGAIN, CUPCAKE!”

Great.

Sure. 

_I love this place so much…_

Still. “You really don’t have a...you know… _Actual_ name?”

The bandit pulled out his axe and slammed it into the ground. Sand sprayed everywhere. Rhys needed to stop, but in a way, it was nice to finally have some reaction, as opposed to silence. “One more word and you get the gag, catcake!”

Rhys fell silent with a sigh. 

The bandit turned away and fiddled with...a radio, Rhys realized, until a song with a happy tune but...worrying lyrics came on. The leader let out a loud hoop and began singing along, grinning happily. Rhys finished his second chunk of meat, staying silent. 

Rhys heard a noise beyond the music, a rustle. He tensed. The handsome bandit stood, apparently having heard it too, grabbing his axe and pacing to the perimeter of the lit area. A group of bandits emerged from the shadows, and the leader watched them carefully. 

“Password?” he asked.

The new bandit answered, “Meat is forever!” 

The group quieted and began whispering. The only thing that Rhys could hear was the music. Abruptly, the handsome bandit spun around and stalked toward Rhys. “Up, meatcake! Time for our walk!”

Rhys stumbled to his feet, unable to even consider resisting. The leader spilled a pail of water over the fire and grabbed Rhys’s wrist, tugging him close. What was going to happen now? Dread filled Rhys. Probably nothing good. He was surrounded by monsters of men, after all.

Rhys saw the leader had produced his mask from seemingly nowhere. Rhys gulped as more bandits poured from the shadows, laughing, their masks distorted in the moonlight. Some of them shook their weapons consisting of guns and buzz axes. Others had started a chant of excitement. Soon, they were all whooping along. Even the music had been drowned out by the sudden ruckus. 

Rhys shivered, and found himself drifting a bit closer to the leader. At least the leader intended him to keep his life, as far as he could tell. Rhys imagined there were many in the bandit group who would disagree. He thought the bandit leader might just protect him if they got any ideas. An odd thought for sure, but it would line up with everything else that’d happened.

The leader didn’t let go of Rhys as he began walking, striking out across the desert.

_“TIME FOR BLOOD!”_

The others cheered and followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My good friend nyghtmare beta'd again, so thanks to him! Also introduced me to the song American Money by Bones, and somehow, that song has become one for this au. Highly recommend it.


	3. Royal Meatcake

The group moved across the desert, chattering voices and harsh whispers chasing them like rain clouds to a parade. There was not a single cloud in the Pandoran night sky. Elpis’s eerie light turned the land as pale as a corpse. In the distance, Rhys saw what appeared to be artificial lights, like those of a settlement. Rhys wasn’t sure exactly where he was, but he stared at those lights like they were pure gold, like a starving beggar eyeing a morsel of fresh food. He pretended it was the spaceport that had a shuttle. That there, he would be safely escorted to Atlas. If he could just get away and flee across the desert, he would surely reach them in days.

He could laugh at the thought. Currently, there was a small army of murderers and maniacs behind him. Running would be suicide. It chafed. Escape was as fleeting and false as a dream, despite the view.

The other bandits did not question his presence, but they shot him glances that bore no goodwill. Their eyes shone balefully under their bone-colored masks, threats and promises both. Every instinct in Rhys's body was screaming,  _ hide! _ But the bruising grip on his wrist made him feel slightly better, because it was the thing keeping him alive. Not that he had any fresh insight as to why he still drew breath. He hoped his execution was not somehow the goal or consequence of this...warpath. 

At any rate, the bandit horde seemed to respect the fact that it was the leader’s decision, and that was good enough for now. 

“ _ Bonecraw _ ,” said a voice to Rhys’s left. 

Rhys saw that the bandit was gazing at a mostly unassuming sign. A split, black skull was painted there. The other bandits hesitated and whispered harshly. 

The leader kept going. In fact, his steps became quicker, and Rhys almost tripped. Eventually, the others continued behind them. 

The burn of smoke stung Rhys's nose. He could see it clouding in the air. Before long, the glow of smoldering embers shone through it. Rhys coughed on the acrid smell as they drew closer to the source. 

The leader finally paused, forcing Rhys to a halt. The bandit observed for several moments. "Hmmm… This isn't right.” He paced forward again, dragging Rhys along. 

Rhys wondered what was happening. He tried to gain some insight, casting his gaze around. He noted destroyed wreckage. At a glance, he thought they were back at the attack site where his transports had been destroyed. Those were certainly the burned out husks of vehicles and...

He noticed a piece of armor lying in the sand. Yellow and black. 

...This was the Hyperion envoy?

Rhys's breathing picked up, only making him feel more suffocated in the smoke. His body trembled and locked up, muscles unresponsive. The leader halted when Rhys's boots dug into the loose sand. Rhys just couldn’t explain his inability to make a step right now. The leader’s eyes narrowed. "No time for games, meat cupcake." He yanked. 

Arm protesting, Rhys stumbled forward and fell into the bandit's chest. The bandit locked an arm around his torso and dragged him, making an irritated, impatient sound. Rhys was doing little to help, but he just couldn't  _ move _ , couldn't breathe, couldn't comprehend any of it. His legs just wouldn't respond. 

These _bandits_ _defeated Hyperion too_??? 

But it was the truth. The detritus of the fight was all the proof he needed. He peered at corpses as the bandits fanned out, growling and muttering confusion at each other. The leader stopped and silently observed again. 

_ It wasn’t them.  _ Rhys realized.  _ They’re just as confused as I am. They expected a fight.  _ That left the question of what the bandit leader’s intentions had been all along. Why bring Rhys to this? To keep an eye on him? Or maybe so Rhys could watch hope of possible escape crushed before his very eyes? See people he knew die? 

And if someone other than these bandits had done this, who? Different bandits? Bandit gangs tended to be territorial. Or so he’d heard. Nothing he’d seen said any different.

Rhys cast his gaze around, eyes widening. “Yvette!” He exclaimed. The sight unlocked his frozen body. He twisted and broke his captor's hold, rushing to the figure lying in the dirt. He dropped beside her on his knees. He felt for her pulse, hand shaking. “Come on, Yvette, come on, please, please, please-" He shook her. He found a pulse, but she was out cold. "Yvette!"

Rhys heard footsteps. Great, not now-

“Well, well, well,” said a voice.

That wasn't the leader's voice. 

Rhys saw dark leather boots. He raised his eyes. The person peered back at him from under a hood. Oh… The split black skull was tattooed right onto his face. So, that made sense… This man… Was he a bandit too? What was the word? Bonecraw? His gear looked a bit too nice to be a simple bandit, all dark leather and metallic steel. His eyes glinted orange, reflecting the coals of a smoldering fire. They widened at Rhys. “If my eyes don’t deceive me! You’re Atlas’s CEO, aren’t you?”

Rhys swallowed. “I… Uhhh…” Great, Rhys. Fantastic. How had he missed this person? And better yet, how eloquent of him? Fuck, he was a total mess. Rhys swiped at his hair and face. “A-And you are?” he managed. How was he recognized like this?

The man laughed, as if Rhys had made a particularly witty joke.

Rhys heard an angry noise, and he glanced back to see the bandit leader getting closer. He had produced a gun Rhys hadn’t seen before - a pistol. An old Hyperion one, scuffed up and used. Rhys hadn't seen that particular line in  _ years _ , so he knew there was no way the leader had just looted it. He'd been packing all this time? Why the axe? Not that it mattered. The leader's eyes burned with intense hatred as he locked on the newcomer. “Oh, if it isn’t you,  _ Bonecraw _ ,” he sneered. So Rhys had been right in that assumption on the name. “So clever, stealing the ideas of kittens! You couldn’t puzzle together a  _ skull _ even with an  _ instruction manual,  _ asshole!”

“It’s been awhile,” chuckled the… Bonecraw. “Jack.”

_ Jack _ ?

The world crashed down around Rhys and all the air rushed out of his lungs. He sank forward onto his arm, shaking. It wasn’t possible that some random bandit shared the same name as the man who’d nearly destroyed his life...right? The random bandit that'd taken him captive. The random bandit that had saved him from the frying pan to put him into the fire. The bandit that was in many ways like Jack. 

No. There was no way. Even without all the meat talk.

Handsome Jack was just a half-remembered dream at this point, lost in the hills of Rhys's mind, distorted by memory, pain, and anger, and at one point, all-consuming adoration. Rhys knew it was some weird desperation that made him even connect the two over a shared name and bloodlust. For closure or something else, he wasn't sure. 

It was a coincidence.

Handsome Jack, who'd despised the bandits of Pandora as much as Rhys did, was not this man. He wouldn’t be a bandit. He cared too much about Hyperion; that had been his life’s work when he lived! Jack wouldn’t come down here to live like an animal… Maybe this bandit had modeled himself after such a killer, out of some sort of respect. Which was odd. He knew the bandits had loathed Handsome Jack just as much. 

He pushed it all aside. He’d think about whether he was crazy yet or not later. He half suspected this was a dream or a hallucination, that he was in a coma, that he would wake up soon. But it didn’t matter. Right now he had to find a way to help his friend. He realized how impossible that might be, but he had to try.

“Look,” Bonecraw was saying to Jack -  _ Jack, Jack, Jack _ \- “Jack. I gave you a chance and you didn't take it. So this is how it's gotta be.”

"This was OUR haul, you insignificant meat moron, and you knew it!" 

There was a laugh. "Finders keepers, loser weepers, man."

Rhys forced himself to speak. “You...you gotta help her." Both eyes turned on him. "She’s Hyperion’s CEO. If she dies…” Rhys gripped Yvette's unmoving hand. “Come  _ on _ !” He wished he wasn’t so helpless right now. That he could call in a troop from Atlas and wipe these bandits all out. But that wasn’t his reality, here on Pandora, cut off from his home.

There was a glint in Bonecraw’s eye. “ _ Are  _ you Rhys?”

Rhys didn't answer the question. “ _ Please _ .”

Bonecraw raised his brow at Jack. “What’s your plan? Ransom?” 

“Go shove a bone up your ass, bone-bitch!” Jack got in Bonecraw’s face. “Take your little meat-kids and go play in another park. Or I will strangle you with a knife!”

Bonecraw chuckled. “Too late, we got all the good take, but you’re welcome to play in the remains. We were just going.” Bonecraw spun about and whistled, sharp and piercing. “Crew,  _ out _ !” More people in dark leather and steel emerged from silhouettes, unknown spaces. Without a word, they trailed off into the night after their own leader like walking shadows. 

Rhys glowered. Of course. He shouldn't have asked for help from those strange people, but he was desperate. And also intensely curious to how Bonecraw recognized him. He made a mental note to try to get information on them later. 

A bandit came up to Jack and muttered something too low for Rhys to hear. In response, Jack kicked a broken helmet, sending it spinning off. Jack gestured to the other bandits. “Spread out, take, take, take!” he punctuated each word with a wave of his fist. "And then we go! As fast as your little legs will carry you, rabbits!" 

Rhys turned his head as Jack stepped towards him. This was still weird. He knew, no matter how much it felt like a slap to the face, that this was not  _ his Jack _ ...well, not  _ Handsome Jack _ . Jack reached forward and Rhys flinched. Jack grabbed his chin and forced their gazes to meet. Jack’s eyes burned, even the blind one, somehow. “Break my hold again, pumpkin, and I will break your  _ wrist _ .”

He could even  _ sound  _ like that asshole.

Anger rose inside him. Rhys spat, "Healing syringes?” in a voice he saved for someone with limited vocabulary and poor hygiene. It seemed relevant here. "You remember those right?" 

Jack's grip tightened. “We need to leave, pumpkin!”

Rhys gritted his teeth. “You can’t just leave her!”

“And whysat? I don't owe anyone any meat treats, least of all  _ you _ or  _ her _ .”

“Please! You could get a huge money reward-” 

A hand tangled into his hair, tugging. It wrenched Rhys to his feet. Rhys was bent and forced to stumble after unless he wanted to fall. Jack was speaking, "you think this is about the shinies! And you talk like I'm the bone-bringer, bird-biter! Of course you don’t remember, dumdum, and it’s starting to limit my patience!" 

“You don’t make any sense!! Ow-ow-oww… No!” Rhys struggled against his hold. "You can't-" Rhys was yanked chest-to-chest against the bandit, their noses inches apart. 

“Shut up, buttercup!”

"NO! That’s my friend! Let go!” Rhys let out an angry yell and punched the bandit in the ribs, earning a grunt. It wasn’t much, but the hold loosened. Rhys was shocked it worked, though his knuckles now ached. Perhaps the element of surprise had given him a favor. He didn’t waste any time dwelling on it. 

He ran. 

He didn’t make it far, of course. The leader tackled him from behind, spilling them both into the ground. Rhys resisted, writhing - and god, now the sand really was  _ everywhere  _ \- kicking until Jack straddled him. His one hand against both of Jack’s didn’t last long, and his wrist was pinned. Jack lifted his weight and flipped Rhys over onto his belly. The rough hand gripping his wrist twisted it back. A sharp, burning pain went up Rhys’s limb. Rhys screamed, going limp. A large hand wound under where his cybernetic arm used to be, up his chest, and gripped his throat. Jack heaved Rhys to his feet, still keeping his wrist behind him.

Rhys was dizzy, his wrist on fire. He couldn’t resist, though.

"You just didn't listen, did you?" growled Jack’s voice in his ears. “Just had to play hero to the princess?”

Rhys managed, “like you say anything comprehensible!” 

The hand tightened, and Rhys coughed. His vision swam, and everything faded for a moment. 

They were moving away. The hand was no longer at his throat, but curved around his back, propelling him along. His injured arm was hooked over Jack’s shoulders. Rhys sobbed, tears dripping from his eyes. Pain, both physical and emotional coursed through him. 

Jack didn’t say a word.

_ I’m sorry, Yvette… I shouldn’t have messed with the stupid mining deal... _

* * *

Rhys marched around his room, feeling like a mouse in a cage. His heart raced. It wouldn’t slow, just kept going and going, as if it could escape his body. It felt like everything he experienced was mounting uncontrollably on him. Rhys paused and swayed in dizziness - too much too much _ , too much _ . He gasped for breath, and that just made everything worse. His heart was going to explode. Nothing could stop this. 

Rhys forced himself to sit down on the floor and breathe, occupying his racing thoughts with the static objects around the room. Lamp. Cot. Torn wallpaper. Holes in the ceiling. The floorboards. The doorknob. Old Stains. An empty water bottle. Medical tape. Drawers. 

He returned to himself, still wrung out, but not stuck in his own head as much. His breathing and heart rate had calmed. Unfortunately, he now had a pressure-like headache that throbbed. He groaned and put his head against his hand.

He wished he had access to his medicine cabinet just now.

_ Yay. Panic attack, _ he thought. He hadn’t had a proper one in years. Rhys curled into a ball. It was going to be alright, he tried to tell himself. Maybe Yvette would survive. She was strong. Maybe she would wake up and find that spaceport. Or maybe Hyperion would be more diligent in retrieving their CEO. Maybe it was a good thing Jack hadn’t captured her too. Maybe Rhys would find an opportunity to escape. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Rhys’s anger overrode the fear. Limbs aching, he rose to his feet and paced in his prison of a room, trying not to think of what had happened with Yvette. Trying not to have another panic attack. Without considering the consequences, he punched the wall. He yelped at the incredible pain in his wrist. Damn it. Rhys felt more tears streaking over his cheeks as he cradled it. He was fairly certain Jack had broken it. It had been wrapped by the bandit quickly upon getting back, but before then, Rhys had seen it swollen and red.

Damn these damned bandits. 

The door opened.

Jack came in, closing the door behind him. 

Great.

Rhys glared at him with as much hatred as he could muster, eyes still wet with tears. He was so angry. And yet, he realized he felt it mostly at himself. Still, it was easier to channel it for this man who reminded him so much of… Handsome Jack. And it wasn’t like there was much to love. Rhys was his captive, Yvette’s fate had been in his hands, and so far, Jack had been a total bitch.

“Why didn’t you just let me die too?” Rhys snapped, at the end of his rope. He hadn’t slept in a real bed, had decent food, or a shower in  _ two-maybe-three three days _ ! “It’s all the mercy you could afford Yvette! And what good am I to you? You said it wasn’t about money - oh I’m sorry,  _ shinies  _ \- But what else could you possibly want, and why won’t you tell me?!” 

Jack let something dangle from his hand. Rhys saw that they were ankle shackles. Jack came closer, looking annoyed. 

Hell no. 

Rhys kicked Jack in the sternum. Jack cursed and stumbled, off guard. Rhys didn’t waste a moment, he shoved forward and knocked Jack off balance, knocking him to the ground. 

He had no plan, no way out of this, no escape. This was Jack’s domain. Even if he could overpower Jack for real and successfully flee, he’d just be caught again. There were likely other bandits still around. 

But he had too much fury in his body to contain any longer. And all he saw was Handsome Jack. 

“Why won’t you leave me alone!?” Rhys shouted at him. He might have punched Jack, but his wrist burned too much, even in his anger. All he could do was yell. “I hate you!” It sounded childish, but it felt perfectly true. “All you’ve ever done was ruin my life! You fucking asshole! Go the fuck away!!” More tears came. He was surprised he wasn’t already on the ground himself for his assault. 

Instead, Jack gaped at him like he’d grown three heads (which, come to think of it, probably wouldn’t have phased these psychos). Rhys sighed. His energy vanished and he slumped to the side off of Jack, sobbing. “I...I can’t do this! I… You  _ aren’t  _ him… You aren’t... _ real _ !” Rhys gripped his own hair. “I don’t understand! How is this  _ possible _ !”

Jack sat up. A hand landed on Rhys’s shoulder, but it wasn’t forceful or harsh. Rhys still shrugged it off, angry. “Hey, is this about that woman?” Jack asked, voice confused and wary.

Rhys refused to look at the man. He tasted something bitter. “What do you care?”

“I didn’t help, partially because their distress signal had already hailed to the heavens… Bonecraw was too stupid to jam it out. That, or he wanted them to come in and wipe us out, but the timing didn’t line up.”

That sank in. Rhys rubbed his face and looked at Jack, hope fluttering in his chest “You mean…”

“They found your woman, so cheer up, sweetmeat.” He patted Rhys’s face and rubbed one of Rhys’s tears away. The touch was surprisingly soft. Rhys pulled back...in spite of the part of him that didn’t want to. What?

“What?” Rhys asked in disbelief - disbelief at the information and disbelief at the soft gesture. His skin tingled. “Hyperion got to her?”

“Yeah.” Jack shrugged. “S’why I hightailed it outta there. Reinforcements would’ve gotten the better of us.”

Rhys lit up with the first ray of hope he’d felt in awhile. “Why didn’t you  _ say  _ so before!?” 

“Because I wasn’t in the mood for a  _ chat _ , princess.”

Rhys scoffed. He sniffed and swallowed. “I... _ wow _ . Real mature. And the breaking my wrist thing?”

“Not broken, just sprained. If it were broken, it’d be a  _ lot  _ more painful, pumpkin. And I did it so you would quit fighting. You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep fighting me, because the others will happily take your head off for that. And I may not always be able to stop them. I mean, I’m incredibly smart, handsome, and powerful, but even I can only do so much!” 

Rhys frowned. He didn’t really like the truth in those words, but it made sense. Not the ‘smart, handsome’ bit. The whole ‘the-others-would’ve-killed-him-for-attacking-Jack’ thing. Not that he had anything against scars! This was about personality! Ugh, why was he thinking about this?

Rhys found himself wondering about something else. “Who were those people? That...Bonecraw crew?”

“Insignificant worms feasting on everyone else’s hard work,” Jack responded with a disgusted tone. 

Great, as usual, very helpful! “Why is their armor like that?”

“They used to…” Jack frowned, rubbing his temples. “I...I don’t remember. They worked for one of those...sky groups I think. Like you do.”

“Corporations?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one? Dahl? Hyperion?”

Jack shrugged. “Dunno. And now they work with no one but themselves. They are scavengers. Honestly, who cares? They suck.”

Rhys let it go at that point. He doubted he’d get much information like this. Basically everyone on Pandora was corporate refuse, so he hadn’t learned much. “Also, sorry about…” He gestured at Jack’s sternum. “Kicking you just now.”

To Rhys’s surprise, Jack laughed. “Oh that was nothing! I’ve had way worse, trust me, baby.” He winked. "But you do got nice legs. Good kick."

Rhys preened for a moment before catching himself. He shook that feeling off. He wasn’t going to accept praise from his damned bandit captor. He exhaled, wondering why he felt at ease all of a sudden. How did he know Jack wasn’t lying about Yvette? To what end, though? Jack didn’t care about what he wanted, and he had nothing to gain for lying about this. Unless he expected Rhys to be more docile for it. “How do I know you aren’t lying about Yvette.”

Jack sighed. He pulled out an...Echo! So he did have one! And fiddled with it for a second. He then showed Rhys a broadcast. One that hailed to Hyperion, captioned with a request for help. He could see it clearly marked as having been picked up.

“Oh…” Rhys hadn’t expected Jack to prove himself honest. “I…”

“Happy?”

“Yes?” Rhys realized that escape might be just as simple as getting to Jack’s Echo device. He watched Jack shove it back into a pocket in the tattered overcoat. “Very!” He had to contain himself.

And then Jack brought out the manacles again. 

Rhys scooted back, annoyance and fear returning in a heartbeat. “Is-is this really necessary? I’m in a  _ room  _ now?” 

Jack quirked a brow, moving closer. “Uh. Yeah. Until I know you won’t try to escape.”

“It was only for Yvette.”

“There’s always a reason. It won’t hurt ya, just make ya a bit less mobile. Warned you about running, didn’t I, meatcake?”

Rhys watched the loose cuffs snapped onto his ankles, hobbling him. He didn’t resist, because he knew it was pointless. It was the same reason he hadn’t carried through on his last attack on Jack. He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you’re keeping me?”

As expected, Jack ignored the question. “Up,” he said. “Follow me.”

They left the room, going the other direction down the hallway and up some stairs. The progress was slower, with Rhys hobbled, but Jack didn’t rush him. Rhys shot Jack a questioning look, but Jack ignored him. They entered a new room, one that was larger than Rhys’s. The bed was a real mattress, instead of the cot Rhys had been given, bigger, too, possibly full-sized. However, it was just as old and stained. Some of the stuffing had been torn out. 

Rhys also noticed a desk with an ancient computer on its stand. He wondered if it worked. And if not, could he get it to work. There was technology here if he could figure out how to use it. Still, without his Echo Eye, the prospects weren’t great.

“You wanna drink?” Jack asked.

“No thanks,” Rhys answered as Jack pulled a bottle from a mini fridge.  _ Wow, a fridge, but still no shower! _ Jack pulled the cap off the bottle and chugged down a couple gulps. “Probably taste worse than those skags you cooked.”  _ So this must be Jack’s room, then,  _ he thought. “Plus, you do know alcohol is dehydrating, right? And we’re in a desert?”

Jack gave a satisfied sigh at the drink. “Your loss.” Jack set his drink aside for the moment to hand Rhys a small device. “Here.” He looked quite smug, smirking.

Rhys turned it over, trying to determine what it was. He wished he could scan it with his Echo Eye. “I...what is it?”

He took it from Rhys’s hand. He clicked a button on the side and a jack plug released from it. Jack raised it up toward Rhys’s head, towards his temple- as if he were going to plug it into his port, Rhys realized, eyes widening. Rhys backed away until a firm hand gripped his arm, preventing his escape.

Rhys glowered, wary. “What is that gonna do?” 

“Do you want your eyesight back or not?”

“Wha…” This was for his Echo Eye? He didn’t trust that. He’d never had a good experience plugging unknown things into his head. He wondered if that’s why Jack had been so keen to examine his port before. “Do I have a choice?” Rhys felt himself tremble, just slightly. 

Jack rolled his eyes and released his hold. “Fine. Don’t.” He tossed the plug on the desk. 

Jack turned on a nearby radio, snatching his bottle back up. He sat on the bed and leaned back, stretching out and nursing the drink. Rhys listened for a moment, a distraction until he calmed down..

_ That music is familiar, but I can’t think of why. _

Rhys glanced at Jack, and then back at the device. He studied it over. Did Jack make this? Or did he have one lying around that he reprogrammed? Either way, it indicated more coherency than he previously attributed to Jack. Rhys had no idea what could be on it. A virus, maybe, but to what end? his cybernetics were disabled, it seemed unnecessary. 

What was truly odd was Jack letting him choose… It was probably nothing deadly, given the evidence. Still, Rhys couldn’t trust it, couldn’t bring himself to risk it. Especially because of the raw coincidence. Another Jack had wanted to stick stuff into his head without giving him the full itinerary. He shuddered and turned away.

Rhys took an uncertain step towards Jack, hating the sound of the chains rattling. “Can I ask you something?”

_ “Do I have a choice?”  _ Jack mocked.

Rhys rolled his eyes. “I’ve got no reason to trust you going and jamming things into my head!”

Jack sat up. “What have I done that gives you the impression I’m gonna hurt you, baby? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m keeping you alive!”

Rhys laughed. “Oh let me think, because I’ve got a list. One, kill all my people. Two,  _ kill all my people _ . Three, cut off my arm. Four, take me prisoner. Five, give me absolutely no clue to your motivations for taking me! Six, you’re a bandit warlord who sprained my wrist!” Rhys grabbed his hair in frustration. “Ugh, and seven, you don’t have a fucking shower!”

Jack folded his arms. “Well, you’re wrong about one thing, pumpkin. I have a shower.”

Rhys almost shot forward with excitement. “You  _ do _ ?” He resisted the urge to grab Jack and demand,  _ Where!?  _

“Yup.”

“Why didn’t you say so!?” Rhys reined it in, considering what a  _ shower  _ might mean out here. “Is the water actually  _ clean _ ?”

“Judge for yourself, meatcake.” 

Jack stood up, grabbed Rhys’s arm, and led him out of the room. Rhys let him, hopeful but trying not to be too hopeful. It was probably going to be filthy, like everything else. In a minute, they arrived in a large chamber with multiple showers.

Rhys gaped. 

“Here,” Jack laughed at Rhys’s face. 

The place wasn’t exactly clean, but a lot of that was its age showing. Rust everywhere. Rhys carefully turned on the nearest facet. He half expected brown sludge to pour out. By some small small mercy, it was clear. Mostly. It had a bit of fogginess, but he’d take his chances. He shut it back off and turned to Jack.

“How does it have water?” Rhys asked, awed.

“Underground spring.”

“I uh….can I? Use it, I mean?”

“Of course.” Jack smirked and leaned against the wall.

“But... You’re still here…” Rhys flushed, not entirely comfortable with the man’s presence. 

“I’m not leaving, cupcake. As if I’m giving you the chance to give me the slip. Don’t worry, though, I’ll  _ only  _ look. Or if you’d rather, we can just head back.”

Rhys grimaced, glaring at Jack. He was going to have to get naked in front of…? But it was that or stay disgusting. It was a pretty small price to pay for some cleanliness. He still didn’t have clean clothes or soap, but he could get the blood, dust, sand, rust and sweat off.

“Can you take the shackles off for a minute?” Rhys asked, shaking a foot pointedly. “I can’t undress with these on.”

“Fine.”

After Jack had removed the shackles, Rhys undid his vest and flung it at Jack, aiming for the man’s head. Jack dodged, chuckling. Starting on his boots, Rhys stripped the rest of the way as quickly as he could, winding up stumbling a bit in his haste to lose his sleek, silver, Atlas-brand underwear. Ignoring some comment Jack made, he turned on the water. It was lukewarm, so tolerable. Rhys didn’t look Jack’s way, just turned his back on him and set to work. He didn’t think about those eyes on him. He didn’t! Didn’t think about himself being exposed like this. Didn’t think about what Jack might be thinking.

It didn’t bother him, Rhys told himself. He didn’t have the time or lack of dignity to act like a blushing virgin in a locker room.

Ignoring his sore, protesting wrist, Rhys scrubbed his body off with his nails, rinsed his mouth vigorously, and then let the water run through his hair, giving up on the tangles quickly. He was never going to fix his hair at this rate. Still, he was already feeling better. When he was done, he shut off the water and pulled on his clothes carefully - minus the underwear - and frowned at them. If only he could be at home with his toothbrush, his six different shampoos, ten conditioners, deodorant, cologne, brush, and full wardrobe. Not to mention the heated shower.

“Better?” Jack asked.

Rhys exhaled, cold and damp. “Slightly,”

“My apologies, your highness, for the disappointing services. Shall we escort his royal meatcake back to the throne room?” Jack gave a bow and flourished his hand.

Rhys wasn’t sure how much of that was intentional sarcasm or more bandit talk. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, head shaking as he walked out of the room.

Or he started to.

“Wait.”

Rhys looked back.

“You forgot this,” Jack chuckled, holding the manacles again.

Rhys really was having the time of his life on Pandora.


End file.
